


Blackest Soul

by StarryFIF2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Alastair (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has Flashbacks of Hell, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, John Winchester Tries, Self-Blaming Dean Winchester, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23981989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryFIF2/pseuds/StarryFIF2
Summary: After the end of everything, the apocalypse has been stopped and Lucifer is defeated, Dean is at loose ends and totally unsure of himself. He doesn't know what he's going to do now. He feels useless. And most importantly he is afraid of being abandoned again.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	Blackest Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Livejournal on February 2, 2010. Slightly expanded upon and cleaned up as best as I could. Posted for posterity sake as I deleted my Livejournal. Written for a prompt on the Livejournal community Hoodie_Time. 
> 
> Please let me know if I failed to tag anything that may be triggering!
> 
> Translated into German [here](https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/5ef260b70001121a2c7a7055/1/Blackest-Soul) by Nyta. Thank you!

Lucifer’s howl of rage was inhuman, and Dean fought the urge to cover his ears against the noise. His skin crawled as Lucifer’s skin bubbled, his eyes bulged, and his fingers swelled to the size of sausages. With another inhuman howl, Lucifer imploded into a thousand pieces, covering both Winchesters and Castiel in a fountain of blood.  
  
“Gross.” Sam said, wiping at his face with the hem of his shirt and accomplishing nothing but smearing the blood deeper into his skin. Castiel tilted his head. In one blink of the eye and the next his clothes were immaculate.  
  
“Dude,” Dean said, jealous. “Can’t I get some clean clothes too?”  
  
“You’ve defeated Lucifer. You can have all the material possessions and clothing that you desire.” Dean grinned at the look of stunned disbelief on Castiel’s normally inexpressive face. It was a rare day indeed surprising the angel. If there ever was a time to show some emotion, it was when Dean and Sam stopped the friggin’ APOCALYPSE. He wrapped his arms around his brother and the angel and led them away from Lucifer’s destroyed body.  
  
“Awesome.” Sam’s voice, quiet and tentative, wiped the smile, fake as it was, from Dean’s face.  
  
Inside, under Dean’s cocky grin and jubilation laid fear and uncertainties Dean was desperate to hide. Lucifer was dead, and the threads holding the three of them together were severed. Now Sammy would leave him and go back to school or go somewhere else, far away from Dean. Castiel no longer had a reason to stick around either; by helping Dean and Sam kill the devil, Castiel would undoubtedly be forgiven and accepted back into heaven. And where would that leave Dean?  
  
Where he’d been before and what he dreaded more than anything. Dean would be alone.  
  
*&(&(&(&(&  
  
The bar, dimly lit and crowded was the perfect place to loose himself in the noise and atmosphere. Any other day, Dean would indulge. He’d drink himself silly and find a warm welcoming body and just forget about anything.  
  
For the last year all Dean had been able to think about was the apocalypse and keeping Sam and Castiel alive. Dean himself had been a distant second. He’d never placed that much worth in himself. He was nothing more than a soldier, and a good one at that, trained by his Father who believed more in discipline than kind words. Dean had been willing to try anything to stop Lucifer from destroying his world.  
  
Sam’s shoulder bumping into Dean’s knocked Dean from his thoughts. Sam’s smile was bright as he picked up his beer. Dean followed suit and knocked back another shot. The alcohol burned as it went down his throat and settled heavy in his stomach, like a stone.  
  
*)*)*)*)*  
  
That night, even though his body was heavy from booze and food, he found himself unable to sleep. Dean couldn’t seem to stop staring at his brother’s body, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. Dean knew it was irrational, but he felt if he looked away for even one second his brother would vanish.  
  
Dean’s breath caught in his throat and he dug his nails into his palms hard enough to draw blood. _Come on you pussy, breathe;_ he thought condescendingly. The earlier lassitude that comes from eating too much food faded; in its place an emotion that, in the safety of his mind Dean was willing to give its proper name: fear—settled.  
  
_In and out,_ Dean thought, staring into the darkness surrounding his brother; _Inhale._ Following his own advice, Dean did. _Now exhale_. His exhale seemed loud and jarring in the relative quiet of the motel room; even Sam was silent, his breaths muffled into his pillow.  
  
_One: Inhale. Two: exhale. One: Inhale. Two: exhale._ The rhythm succeeded in soothing the chaos in Dean’s mind and soon the fear that had tried to swallow Dean faded. While he wasn’t one hundred percent calm, Dean still found himself falling asleep.  
  
*)_*)*)*)*)*)*  
  
_“Now Dean Winchester, you know the routine. You’ve been here sixteen years, and I wake you up every morning the same exact way.” Alastair said through lips twisted in a facsimile of a smile. The knife clutched in Alastair’s hand was as familiar to Dean as breathing. Even the pain the small object caused him, as it sank into his resisting flesh had become familiar._ _  
  
What Dean could never get used to, would never become familiar with, were Alastair’s words. Dean knew why Alastair spoke, why he said what he did. Everything the demon did and said was specifically designed to cause Dean pain. Every cry torn from Dean, each drop of blood shed and cut sliced into Dean’s flesh was a victory for the demon. Each victory led Alastair one step, small as it may be, to his ultimate goal: breaking Dean Winchester.  
  
And fuck if Dean didn’t want to give in. Tears dripped down Dean’s face. He didn’t try to stop them; what was the point? Sammy was safe, living his life, fighting the good fight, and there was no one here to appear strong and indestructible for. The only things that could see him were soulless and already reveled in Dean’s pain.  
  
“You are nothing Dean Winchester,” Alastair whispered, and his words seemed to be dripping acid that burned skin even as the demon literally cut out Dean’s heart. Each agonizing cut through his skin burned like the hellfire surrounding Dean. It hurt so goddamn much.  
  
Fourteen years later Dean gave in to Alastair and began torturing souls. Ten years later Castiel rescued him from hell. But even now, as Dean lies safe in his bed, Hell’s tortures crystal clear in his mind, his skin aching from cuts his body once bled from; Dean can still remember Alastair’s words as the Demon handed him the knife he’d once used on Dean:  
  
“I’m glad you’re here Dean. If you’d stayed with your brother he’d have left you because he would have seen, just like I see now, what you really are: A worthless, soulless monster, useless in every way except one: your ability to harm others.”_  
  
*_*(_(_(_((_(  
  
Dean woke with a gasp. His body ached as if he’d run ten miles and his shirt was drenched with sweat. Alastair’s words still rang in his ears. Shame burned through Dean’s body.  
  
Alastair, even though long dead by Sammy’s hands, still managed to hurt Dean from beyond the grave. While Dean had been in Hell the demon always knew what words to speak to hurt Dean the most. The demon could literally see into Dean’s mind and he took sadistic glee in causing Dean both mental and physical pain.  
  
Alastair loved to attack Dean’s self-esteem and the vulnerabilities and hurts Dean had buried deep in the hopes he’d never have to address them. Growing up with John Winchester as a Father hadn’t been easy. The man’s obsession with killing the Yellow-Eyed bastard left little time for tender words and hugs; John spent all of Dean’s childhood molding his eldest into both a soldier and his little brother’s protector.  
  
Dean strove for perfection and he took it as a weakness on his part when he failed. Each time Sammy was hurt it wasn’t because demons were unpredictable, evil bastards; it was because Dean hadn’t moved quickly enough, or he wasn't strong enough to protect his brother.  
  
Things could have been different if John had had the time to look after his boys. John did his best to make sure his children were well taken care of and that they had enough money when he was forced to leave them alone for days at a time in a motel room while John was off hunting. John was blind as to how long absences and the strain of caring for Sammy affected his oldest son.  
  
Dean was forced to grow up long before he should have. Caring for Sammy was on Dean’s shoulders, and when money ran out it was up to Dean to hustle money at bars, and if Sammy caught a cold, Dean spent hours by his brother’s side nursing him back to health.  
  
Discipline came swift and unmerciful from John when Dean inevitably failed. John refused to listen to what he thought of as excuses when Dean tried to explain why he couldn’t do what his father wanted.  
  
His Father’s mission of revenge shaped Dean’s life; after Mary died there was no permanent home, just an endless stream of rundown motels, cheap houses and people Dean never got the chance to get to know.  
  
As Dean grew he became accustomed to the life his Father chose and he accepted all of the loneliness that came with it. John made sure his son’s could hunt and fight as well as he could; and while Sammy fought John every step of the way, Dean did everything in his power to make his Father proud.  
  
In the end Dean failed. Sammy left for college, and when he left, so did a piece of Dean’s heart. Without Sam, Dean was lost; his Father had hammered in the need to look after Sam, had repeated the demand so often it had literally become a part of Dean’s soul. He felt empty and almost broken without his brother.  
  
He moved on with his life, not because he wanted to, but because he had to. John demanded he did, and ever the obedient son, he’d obeyed. It hurt, though, that John didn’t notice how lost Dean was without his younger brother.  
  
*)_*)*)*)*  
  
Over the years, Dean had learned to hide his feelings behind a mask of cockiness and bluster. It took Sam a couple of months after Jess’s death to learn the ways Dean hid his emotions, but he eventually did. As frustrating as it was to be unable to hide anything from his brother---he was the eldest, damn it; he deserved some privacy---it sent a thrill down Dean’s spine to know Sam cared enough to want to learn Dean’s tells as well as Dean knew Sam’s.  
  
Of course everything got shot to Hell, no pun intended, after Dean sold his soul. Their relationship fragmented during that horrible year, and the subsequent four months Dean spent in Hell. And when Dean came back, Ruby was there blocking Dean’s attempts to reconnect with Sam. What little remained of their relationship deteriorated.  
  
Dean is smart; he knew he was screwed up emotionally before Hell---his mother dying, all of the isolation growing up, his whole world revolving around Sam---Hell broke him even more. It is too difficult to deal with the aftermath of thirty years of torture on the rack and ten years torturing others, on the best of days. To even think of trying now is unfathomable. Right now, Dean has the aftermath of the Apocalypse on his plate.  
  
Before the Apocalypse began, drinking helped numb the pain. Fighting with Castiel helped too, and to some degree, fighting with Sam did as well. Other than fighting and drinking, hunting was the only other outlet Dean had. It was too much effort, most nights, to pick up women. He was exhausted from constant hunts and the strain in his relationship with Sam to even try.  
  
During those horrible months leading up to the Apocalypse and Lucifer’s rising, Dean was once again lost and still so terribly broken. The rift between him and Sam seemed insurmountable; Dean hated every moment they weren’t speaking to each other.  
  
It wasn’t until Anna pointed out how careless he was during hunts that Dean realized he had a death wish, as subconscious as it may be. Reexamining the fights, Dean saw he charged into the battles without first scouting the area, or without the proper information. Without Sam, Dean had nothing. It scared Dean how much he needed his brother, and how vital he’d become to Dean. It hurt knowing it wasn’t the same for Sam; that he could function fine without Dean, that he was so disposable.  
  
Then the Apocalypse began. Dean killed Ruby, Lucifer was free and the demons were clamoring to take over the world. Dean and Sam were once again in the middle of everything, and past hurts were shoved to the side. The Winchester’s reconciled. Dean and Sam made peace, and the sting of Sam’s betrayal with Ruby faded, as Sam risked everything to keep his brother safe. Suddenly his suicidal tendencies weren’t as important as stopping Lucifer. Dean shoved the feelings aside and focused on what was most important.  
  
But now with Lucifer gone….Dean didn’t know what to do, and those damnable feelings Dean had thought he’d pushed aside were back again and even stronger. God help Dean, but when Sammy left him, again, Dean didn’t think he’d survive.  
  
*)*)*)*)*)*)**  
  
There were no new hunts and Dean was starting to become stir crazy at being stuck in the same small town for almost three days. Sam had left almost forty minutes ago in search of some food; Castiel had left last night with Zachariah and Anna to go make arrangements with God and the angels, or something like that. Who knew when Castiel would come back?  
  
_**IF**_ _Castiel came back,_ that traitorous voice in his head said. _Castiel found God and he made peace with his brethren, so why would God’s warrior want to come back to you? God knows how tainted you are; He knows what you did in Hell. He wouldn’t want one of His pure creations mucking around with the likes of you._  
  
“Shut up!” Dean yelled, agitated. Anything else Dean might have said vanished as the door opened and Sam came back, a takeout bag in each hand.  
  
The food tasted like cardboard and conversation was impossible with the knot in his stomach and the lump in his throat. Sam absorbed in some crappy comedy sitcom didn’t seem to notice.  
  
&*&(&(&(&(&  
  
Five nights later and the Winchester’s finally had a hunt in Montana. It promised to be a simple, straight forward hunt, a ghoul wreaking havoc around the local cemetery. With the promise of a satisfying hunt the following night when they arrived at the town, Dean should have been able to sleep. Instead, his mind raced, and Dean couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Sam leaving him.  
  
_And why shouldn’t he?_ Dean thought bitterly. _With Lucifer dead and his craving for demon blood long since extinguished, he has no reason to stick around. He’s going to want to go back to his perfect, normal life, and he’s going to leave you behind. You don’t know how to do anything but hunt, Dean, and Sammy’s never wanted this life. You’re the only one that lives for the thrill; and Hell has only strengthened your skills you use during them. First you were Daddy’s perfect soldier. Now you’re what Hell made you into: the perfect killing machine._  
  
Sam’s voice unexpectedly broke through Dean’s dark thoughts. “If you could go anywhere, Dean, no hunts involved, no supernatural bullshit, where would it be?”  
  
Dean inhaled sharply and clutched his stomach, pressing his fingers into his skin so hard it hurt, the nails digging deep. He wondered, idly, why Sam was asking him where he’d like to travel. Was Sam thinking of dropping Dean off in his destination of choice, and going back to Stanford? Dean didn’t want to be alone; his brother couldn’t abandon him…  
  
“Dean?” Sam said. He sounded uncertain. Dean closed his eyes so hard he saw bright spots of color. His mind raced; he thought of and discarded dozens of answers before he settled on the truth. Sam would call him on any bullshit answer he thought up and tried to pass off as the truth.  
  
“A city; probably New York or Los Angeles. You know me, Sammy; I need to be where all the people are; especially the pretty ladies.” Sam snorted and Dean grinned.  
  
“What about you Sammy? I bet you’re all ready to go back to Stanford and get back to your normal life.” **Without me…**  
  
“I don’t know; I guess.” Sam’s words were like a death knell for the hope Dean hadn’t even realized he’d been harboring. Oh, God, Sam as good as confirmed it; he was going to leave….he was going back to college, his friends, his law…and Dean was going to be all alone…Castiel was as good as gone; he still hadn’t come back, and it was obvious he wasn’t going to….And Dean, Dean was nothing, he was alone…  
  
Tears rose unbidden, and no matter how hard he tried to will them away they came and rolled down his cheeks. Another sign of weakness; a weak, useless action; a sign of a sadness Dean shouldn’t be showing; if Sam saw he would be ashamed. Dean was older than Sam and he was supposed to be a solid rock that Sam could always rely on. He needed to be strong for Sam.  
  
The tears continued to fall, and as Sam’s breathing evened and he slept, Dean cried into his pillow. He cried for the brother he as good as lost; the angel he’d grown to care about and who’d left Dean when he’d needed him the most; the father who left him with such a heavy burden and gone and died and left Dean by himself; but most of all, he cried for how weak and useless he really was.  
  
It was a long time before sleep came.  
  
*_)*(_(_(_(_(  
  
The ghoul was surprisingly easy to destroy. It was stupid with hunger and Sam and Dean easily trapped and killed it. Dean slapped his brother on the shoulder and led the way back to the Impala.  
  
“That was really easy,” Sam said, pleased. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair and grinned at his brother. Dean returned the grin wearily; his enthusiasm somewhat dimmed by exhaustion.  
  
“Of course it was Sammy; not everything can be as difficult as kicking Lucifer’s ass all the way back to Hell.” Sam shook his head and relaxed against the seat. They rode in comfortable silence for close to twenty minutes, the Impala driving smoothly down the road, the noises she made as familiar to Dean as breathing. Sam’s nervous cough had Dean tensing up.  
  
Sam's words, when he spoke, were hesitant. It was almost like he was afraid Dean was going to have a melt-down when he heard what his brother had to say. “I’ve gotten some emails from friends I’ve kept in touch with from Stanford; two of them, Allison and George are going to be graduating at the end of May. They’re on spring break right now, and they asked me to come down for a party they’re going to be throwing at a bar and I thought maybe, since we saved the world and deserve a break, we could go down there. Just for a day or two.”  
  
Sam’s words were like a punch to his gut, leaving Dean dazed and winded. His vision blurred alarmingly, and the Impala jerked under his panicked touch. He quickly pulled over to the side of the road before he crashed and killed them both; he was in no condition to be driving after Sam dropped the mother of all bombshells on him. Sam’s eyes were wide and earnest as they met Dean’s; and fuck, Sam was giving Dean those fucking ‘Please, do this and I’ll be so happy’ eyes that Dean had never built an immunity to.  
  
“You really want to go Sammy?” Dean asked.  
  
“Fuck you; you’re not my parent. I don’t need your permission.” Sam snapped. Dean smiled despite himself at the bitchy tone in his brother’s voice. He could see Sam fighting off a smile out of the corner of his eye; Sam knew he had Dean’s number and he’d already agreed.  
  
_This is the beginning of the end_ Dean thought. He steered the Impala back onto the road. “Why the fuck not? It’s a college party; there’s sure to be free booze and a pretty woman waiting for me there. Sounds like a good night.” Dean was proud his voice was steady, and his lecherous smile had Sam shaking his head in exasperation.  
  
The miles melted away like butter and brought Dean closer to Stanford, the school that was sure to once again steal his brother. All too soon Dean pulled up in front of a motel only minutes away from Stanford. They didn't talk.  
  
It was the beginning of the end.  
  
(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(  
  
Dean watched through a haze of alcohol as his brother laughed with fucking Allison and George, and Wilma and Betty or whatever the fuck their names are; Sam was smiling that carefree innocent smile Dean hadn't seen in years. Dean watched, his heart aching as Sam laughed, his face relaxed, none of the heavy burdens and worries left over from the apocalypse present.  
  
Allison pressed her face into Sam's shoulder, flirtatious, and Sam pressed a quick kiss onto her forehead. Allison wrapped her arms around Sam's waist. Dean turned away and tried to tell himself he was happy for his brother; for tonight at least he was going to have his normal and then they were going to leave, go back to hunting, to what they were supposed to be doing. The world was a fucking mess even with Lucifer gone; the demons were in chaos without their leader and extremely violent, attacking anything and everything.  
  
A quick glance over at Sam showed his brother surrounded by a group of people, and Dean could tell from the smile on Sam's face they were old friends. Sickened, Dean downed another shot and motioned for the bartender to get another. Though the man shot Dean a searching glance, he complied.  
  
Dean nursed his drink and continued to watch his brother. It hurt but Dean couldn't seem to help himself. What hurts you can only make you stronger...right? Dean didn't believe that either.  
  
Time moved swiftly and Sam was closer to Dean playing pool. He caught bits of Sam's conversation in the quiet preceding a new song the DJ started. Though Sam motioned Dean over a couple of times, Dean refused. He didn't want to mingle with Sam's old friends; he was hurting well enough over here, thank you.  
  
A Lily Allen remix was just finishing(And Dean only knew her music because once, while watching TV in a nondescript motel, the remote batteries died on MTV while a Lily Allen video was on. He couldn't find the off switch on the TV so he shot the screen. He still felt oddly vindicated). George's slurred voice was crystal clear to Dean-his brother had introduced George and Allison to him before Dean went to the bar to drink by himself- “You need to come back to Stanford, Sam,”  
  
Allison giggled, a high pitch shrill sound, “Yeah, Sam, come back! We've been begging you for so long! And you-” Loud rock music blared through the speakers cutting off whatever Allison had been about to say, and more importantly Sammy's response, the affirmative Dean just knew would come from Sam's lips. The damage was done though.  
  
_In Dean's mind he could see Sam walking over to Dean, his head lowered but his voice strong and clear. Certain. “I've decided to go back to Stanford and finish studying law. I've been in contact with the school and they already agreed to allow me back in. Don't be like Dad; don't fight me, Dean.”_  
  
Dean motioned the bartender closer and a few minutes later he was stumbling out a side door, a bottle of the strongest whiskey the bar had clutched in his hand. He felt numb. God, Sammy was his world, and he was leaving Dean.  
  
The next sip of whiskey burned going down. The burn was good, though; it centered Dean. If he felt the burn it meant he was still alive. Could still feel the pain from Sammy's abandonment.  
  
Dean wasn't sure how long he'd been stumbling around, but he was very drunk. He also didn't recognize any of the buildings. He tripped over his untied shoelaces, his body, uncoordinated from drink, unable to steady itself. His head smashed against a brick wall the pain fiery and taking his breath away.  
  
The pavement was cool beneath his cheek and seemed to seep into his aching body. He really should get up, but what was the point? Everyone he cared about was gone, and Dean was so tired. Lucifer was dead; the apocalypse averted. Sammy was going back to Stanford and all his friends. He didn't need Dean anymore.  
  
If he closed his eyes, Dean knew this was it; it was over. He'd banged his head hard and he almost definitely had a concussion. And even if he didn't, he'd imbibed enough alcohol where falling asleep was dangerous. He'd probably choke to death on his vomit. It wasn't the most dignified way to go, but Dean was past caring at this point.  
  
Everyone had left him....Mom....Dad....Ellen....Jo....Sammy...and..... “Cas,” Dean said, barely able to hear his words through the fog in his brain. Castiel the angel who'd betrayed his brethren for Dean and made up a part [Team-Free Will.](http://community.livejournal.com/haunted_age/4705.html)  
  
It didn't matter anymore. He wasn't going to survive this night. Dean didn't care. His eyes slipped closed and he opened his arms to death's sweet oblivion.  
  
*_(_(_(_(_(_(_((_(  
  
“'Ucking moron. I should kill him myself!” Sam's voice, loud and angry pierced the sweet solitude of the darkness surrounding Dean. He wanted death... _no, come back...._  
  
“Dean Winchester stay with us!” Another voice...no, it couldn't be. But it was. Dean would recognize the angel's voice anywhere. It was Castiel. Why was he here? Was Dean in heaven? It couldn't be, though. That would mean Sammy was dead! Dean thrashed violently on the bed he was apparently laying on, his mind panicked. He had to get to Sammy. It couldn't be too late! It couldn't!  
  
“He's hallucinating. Hold him still.” Castiel's words were calm and unruffled and, combined with Sam's hands keeping him immobile, soothed Dean.  
  
“You are an absolute idiot, Dean. And if you weren't so fucked up right now, I would strangle you. What were you thinking wandering off on your own when you were so fucking drunk! You could have died!”  
  
Sam's words were like a slap in the face and anger came sudden and fierce. Words he never meant to give voice to came pouring out. “That was the plan. Needed to die before everyone left me. Don't wanna be alone. Can't take it.”  
  
Silence thick and uncomfortable followed Dean's announcement. Dean would have sunk back into the welcoming blackness if it wasn't for Sam's fingers digging into his skin hard enough to leave bruises. Dean opened his eyes after another couple of uncomfortable minutes. He took in Castiel frozen above him and Sam, pale and opened mouthed. They were both staring at Dean in absolute shock.  
  
Castiel recovered first. “Why would you think something so awful? Your brother would sooner die than abandon you. I myself have no such plans.”  
  
Dean snorted, and the movement sent lances of agony through his skull. Fuck that hurt. Castiel's hand was there instantly, soothing away the hurt. Dean wished Sam would quit staring at him with those wide, betrayed eyes. It hurt almost as much as moving.  
  
“You went away with your angelic escort and I knew you weren't coming back. At the bar I heard Sam's friends begging Sam to come back to Stanford. I'd have to be blind to not see how much he misses the school and his friends. The apocalypse is over now; you two have every right to go off and live your lives. It just got to be too much, and I don't want to be around to see everyone leave me.”  
  
“Dean---” Sam's voice were like knives to his heart. Sam seemed unable to continue.  
  
Castiel did not have the same problem as the youngest Winchester. “You are wrong Dean. I had no such plans. I was escorted to heaven in order to negotiate the terms surrounding my permanent station on Earth.”  
  
“You mean?” Dean asked, shocked.  
  
Castiel smiled and squeezed Dean's shoulder in affirmation. “Indeed. My place is now with you and your brother. You can think of me as your guardian angel. My brothers assured me that within the next couple of months I will return to my former strength, able to heal and exorcise demons. I find myself much relieved; you and Sam are injured regularly. I am also eternally grateful you called for me before you passed out, otherwise neither Sam nor I would have found you in time.”  
  
“Cas...” Dean began, but this time Sam interrupted.  
  
“I don't know how you could think I would even think about leaving you! You're my brother and I love you, even though, man, you're so fucking stupid sometimes.” Sam stopped, frustrated. “I will always long for a normal life. I will always wonder what my life could have been if Jessica hadn't died. I will always miss going to school and hanging out with friends.  
  
“What you don't understand, though, Dean, is that you're the most important person in my life. I've tried the normal life. As happy as I was with Jess there was always something missing. That something was you. I want to be with my brother no matter what we're doing. You will never be happy living in one place with a 9 to 5 job. You're my brother, you're awesome, and I love you. So I guess you're stuck with me for the rest of your life. And if you ever try to do something so stupid again, I will kick your ass.”  
  
Dean's mouth, which had fallen open during Sam's speech closed. “Sammy...”  
  
“We care about you Dean, and we would be most unhappy without your presence in our lives.” Sam drew Dean into his arms and **stroked** his hair. Dean told himself those weren't tears rolling down his cheeks, and it was the concussion and brush with death that kept him from moving out of his brother's arms.  
  
“I'm so broken, Sammy. Why would you and Cas want to stay with me? I'm a mess.” Castiel rubbed soothing circles on Dean's back but let Sam speak for him. “We love you, Dean, and we want you with us. We're never letting you go.”  
  
Sam held Dean until exhaustion was too much and he started to fall asleep. He wasn't so far gone that he didn't catch the angel's words:  
  
“We'll still be here when you wake up. The same with tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.”  
  
“Plus,” Sam murmured near his ear, “You have a concussion and we need to wake you every half hour.” Dean grinned.  
  
For the first time in longer than Dean could remember, he slept peacefully and without nightmares. Sam and Castiel stayed with him all night.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a Tumblr [here](http://starryfif2.tumblr.com/) if you want to take a peek.


End file.
